


The Survivor

by fingalsanteater



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-21 14:43:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9553235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fingalsanteater/pseuds/fingalsanteater
Summary: Where we called ahead for permission to land on the Mall, Rachel crashed right into it, tearing her own landing strip right across the green.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ConvenientAlias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/gifts).



Where we called ahead for permission to land on the Mall, Rachel crashed right into it, tearing her own landing strip right across the green.

We didn't know it was her at first, of course. There we were, answering as many questions as reporters could throw at us, and in the next moment, the Blade ship came screaming out of the sky. An instinctual shiver of fear ran down my spine and I suppressed the urge to morph to protect everyone from whatever was coming out of that ship. There were cops and national guard everywhere. And people knew now - they knew we had been at war and they were scared and angry. Whatever was coming out of that ship had a fight on its hands with or without the Animorphs.

Still, it was hard to turn off the need to protect Earth after so many years of being its protectors. At Jake's okay, we morphed bird to fly across the large crowd rather than push our way through hundreds of people. They craned their necks to watch us fly, faces full of awe and fear. The people close enough to the stage got to see firsthand how disgusting morphing could be; those who didn't turn away looked pale and slightly green.

Tobias spotted her first, her blonde hair so recognizable, even tangled and dirty as it was. In thought speak he yelled, <Rachel! It's Rachel!>

<No way,> scoffed Marco, but I could hear the hope in his voice.

<Be careful,> Jake said, <it could be a morphed Controller. Cassie! Cassie, wait!> All I heard was _Rachel Rachel_ echoing in my ears.

I literally hit the ground running, my legs already demorphed and the rest of my body following, human sized wings balancing me until I morphed my arms back. People who watched me oohed and awed, but I hardly heard them. I was afraid it wasn't her or that... well, it was what Jake feared. As I got closer I could see the truth of the situation, her morphing suit tattered and the toothy grin on her face all Rachel. There was no mistake; it was really her. 

In an instant I had my arms around her and we were hugging, clinging to each other. She was alive and whole and I was crying, face pressed into her neck and the curve of her shoulder, half-moaning "Rachel, Rachel," because it was all I could think and half-laughing because it was so unbelievably wonderful to feel her alive in my arms.

"Did you miss me," she said, laughing too, covering up her emotions with her normal bluster. But, then she said more quietly, softer, "Cassie," and rested her hand on my head, stroking my hair.

She couldn't tell us how she survived a ship full of morph capable Controllers. None of us said we saw her die because, obviously, we didn't. Tobias and Ax both suspected Ellimist interference, but Jake was vehemently against that idea, saying the Ellimist wouldn't help anyone. We all agreed and decided not to question it any further. She was alive, and that's what mattered.

The public loved Rachel, even though she was more difficult than Jake, and even Tobias, in her own way. She was often a nightmare in an interview despite her natural grace and expensive designer clothing (closets full given to her as advertisement for the designer’s brand) accentuating her beauty. She said what she wanted, and didn't hold back any opinion. The world didn't care. All they saw was a beautiful young woman, thought heroically killed in action after a suicide mission, and returned to life in the most dramatic way imaginable. The grass on the Mall still hadn't quite recovered from her crash landing. I think they were considering memorializing her makeshift landing strip in some way. 

She was a sensation, a fiery goddess from heaven whom death could not touch. But, her cracks just kept growing and they were becoming more and more visible. 

Rachel, Marco and I had a late-night interview on a little show in New York. Rachel was quiet, and Marco was picking up the slack, really turning on the charm and throwing out every humorous anecdote he could think of - including the time he had been on TV as llama during the war.

Rachel had been acting strangely since the backstage aides had insisted on her wearing a lacy black dress. She’d screamed that looked like she was going to funeral and refused to put it on. I had to pull her away from a woman who looked more afraid than I'd seen anyone in months.

"Cassie, you pick something," Rachel huffed, flustered and exhausted. I goggled because, well, I was me. She'd accused me of being colorblind and hopeless when it came to fashion.

"What's wrong with you're wearing," I said, at a loss.

"You can't," the braver of the two aides said, "it will clash with the couch on camera."

There was a look in Rachel's eye that I knew meant she was spoiling for a fight.

"Will this clash," she almost growled, voice gravely as her vocal cords began to morph. Thick brown hair sprouted from her arms and her hands became paws with long claws.

I said as calmly as I could manage, "Rachel, it's fine. You can wear whatever you want." I laid a shaking hand on her shoulder, which had begun to fill out and stretch the fabric of her shirt to the breaking point. I hadn't seen her this way since the war, and I'd forgotten how - how magnificent she could be. Frightening, but magnificent in her own Rachel way.

I looked at the aide who seemed half in awe instead of scared like she should have been.

"Right?" I prompted and the aide finally squeaked out an agreement, elaborating that Rachel would look beautiful in anything.

Rachel didn't even comment, just stalked off while demorphing to wait for our cue to go on. I tried to talk to her in whispers, to understand why she had reacted the way she did, but we were hushed and then ushered onto stage.

Rachel had seemed okay at first, trading a few barbs with Marco, and talking about superficial things like awkward fan encounters, but she became more sullen and quiet as the interview went on. 

And, then, the host asked the wrong question. It was supposed to be light interview, but this guy apparently wanted to be the next Barbara Walters, asking the hard-hitting questions.

"How you deal with all the losses you've suffered fighting the war?" He asked, tone edging toward serious but still too flippant for the subject at hand. I cringed.

It wouldn't have been so bad if he'd just left it at that; we'd been asked insensitive questions before. But he added, "Rachel, you especially, since we understand you were instrumental in the… defeat of your own cousin."

Even Marco couldn't recover from that one. His jaw was tight, like he was trying to keep from going slack-jawed in shock. Rachel looked like she'd been slapped and, with how she'd been on edge, I was worried she wouldn't just retaliate with words. 

So, I took over quickly. "Well, Phillip," I said, letting my mouth just spill out an answer, "our losses affect us deeply, as they would anyone. I'd like to take this opportunity to talk about some of our non-human friends and fellow warriors whose loss we still feel and whose sacrifice doesn't get enough respect, in my opinion..." I continued on from there, effectively steering the conversation on to Jara Hamee and the other Hork-Bajir. My hand found Rachel's forearm and I could feel her shaking with anger. I willed her to keep it together. 

My discussion of our allies wasn't as sensational as making Rachel discuss Tom's death, but people still liked to hear stories about aliens. In some ways, it was still like science fiction to the world, something they'd only seen on TV. There were a lot of people out there who thought like those sci-fi fan campers and treated us all like we were actors or, in the case of Hork-Bajir or Andalites, men in rubber suits.

While I was discussing Toby, Rachel got up and left with no fanfare. Just stood up and walked off. Marco claimed she had a hot date, joking that he needed to be going too because she wouldn't be happy if he was late. That got the audience laughing and broke the tension quickly. The rumors that they were dating were rampant and tabloids loved speculating about their secret war romance.

It was difficult to continue, but we only had a few minutes left before the cameras cut and Marco was giving me a look that said he did not want to be left alone with this idiot of a host. Marco went on to discussing his love life, and I worried the edge of my fingernail until I'd cracked it.

When it was finally over, we made our excuses, and Marco was on the phone with his agent before we were even out the door, snapping the antenna of his mobile up with such force I'd thought he'd broken it. 

"Never book us with that moron again," he demanded while hailing me a cab. I watched a few drive by, seats already full with other people on their way somewhere, before one stopped.

He told me in as much as whisper as he could manage, "You go check on her,” while angling the phone receiver away from his mouth. "I've got an early gig in L.A. and a plane to catch."

Grabbing my arm before I could slide into the backseat of the cab, he said, "Hey, Cassie," then paused, held up one finger, and continued talking to his agent in increasingly heated tones.

Horns honked loudly around us, lights from advertisements flashed far above our heads, and suddenly I felt a little off-kilter, like the world had tilted and I was still clinging on stubbornly.

Marco snapped his phone shut and the strange feeling inside me evaporated instantly. "Cassie," he continued, "just so you know - I didn't want to say anything, but it might help - Tobias told me that he and Rachel, well, let's just say there is a little trouble in paradise, if you catch my drift.”

I was shocked and Marco guessed what I was thinking.

"They didn't officially break up or anything as far as he told me, but - " he shrugged - "he's a bird. Pretty much.  And he says Rachel isn't looking to sit on a nest in a meadow somewhere. His words, he said, not hers, so I’m not exactly sure what’s going on."

I had to laugh at that despite myself, because, weirdly, I could imagine Rachel as a bird, though not on a nest. She'd always loved her bald eagle morph and the power and freedom it allowed her.

"Thanks, Marco," I said, and finally slid into the back of the cab. 

"No problem," he said, then added, "And good luck with Xena, Gabrielle."

It felt like it took forever to get back to the hotel where Rachel and I were staying. We had planned to go site seeing the next day in hats and dark glasses so hopefully no one would recognize us. Rachel had been to New York once on a family vacation, but I'd barely left California.

"We should see the world we risked our life for," she had told me.

The elevator ride was excruciating and I wanted to morph osprey and fly up the shaft just to get to her room faster. But, then I was there, knocking on her door and begging her to let me in.

She answered the door barefoot in the fluffy hotel robe. Her eyes were red and her face was splotchy.

"Rachel! Are you okay?"

"Of course," she said nonchalantly, and took a drink of something clear in a small bottle.

"Rachel, you shouldn't be drinking," I told her when I heard the door shut behind me. I spied two more small empty bottles on the desk.

I didn't quite disapprove; after everything, a little bit of alcohol seemed like such a small issue. I hadn't noticed her making a habit of it. However, I didn't think it was good way to deal problems.

She slurred, "Why not? I can kill but I can't drink?"

"Rachel. It's not..." I was a loss for words. I suppose I should have realized that Rachel, or any of us, using the hotel minibar to deal with feelings was possible. It's tempting to want to forget, and I knew Rachel needed to forget quite a lot. 

Rachel swayed on her feet and steadied herself with a hand on a side table.

"Why don't you lie down," I told her, and she let me gently guide her to bed with just mild grumbling. After getting her settled in, I kicked off my shoes and climbed up in bed next to her, propping myself up against the headboard so I keep watch.

She reached over and took my hand. I squeezed it, letting her know I was there for her.

After a while, so long I thought she was asleep, she blinked open her bleary eyes and softly said, "I don't know who I am anymore.”

I was startled but I tried not to show it. “What do you mean?” I asked, stroking my thumb against the palm of her hand. 

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and said, “When I was on the Blade ship, I knew I was dead -" I started to cut in, but Rachel shushed me. "Cassie, I knew I was dead. I knew it was the right thing too."

I had to interrupt her. "Rachel," I cried, my earlier thought of keeping calm gone, "no. You can't think like that." Tears began to well in my eyes and I was uncomfortably drawn back the moment when I thought Rachel was dead, and the pain I felt then pulsed through me once more.  

Rachel let go of my hand and sat up, turning toward me.

"You're always so good with this emotional stuff, Cassie. So, tell me, what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to go on knowing I killed my own cousin, that I killed - " she gasped, trying to catch her breath, which was coming in quick bursts.

I pulled her toward me, embracing her tightly, reminding myself that she was alive and we could get through this. 

She whispered, "I don't know who to be now. I never thought I'd be here."

Her last remark struck a chord with me. I rubbed her back and shoulders in small circles and let her get control of her breathing before answering.

"I never thought I'd be here either," I said, and waited for Rachel to react.

She pulled back just enough to look me in the face, to allow me to see confusion and a bit of anger creasing her brow.

Putting to words that weird, off-kilter feeling from earlier, I said, "Not like - well, sometimes, because it was war and people don't make it through. But, more like, just here” – I flapped my hand in the direction of the window – “In a nice hotel room in New York city with you. With plans to go shopping and see Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty tomorrow, just you and me. Even before the war, I could have never imagined this. And during? No way. It feels almost unreal in way.”

I continued, “But, this is real. We’re here, Rachel. We made it.”

Paused, I took in Rachel’s wide eyes filled with stubbornly unshed tears. She didn't say anything, so I kept going.

"It feels strange to me too to go on after everything we've done -" Rachel scoffed at that - "but, we just keep moving. Live one day at a time and deal with it."

Rachel laughed. "'Deal with it?' That doesn't sound very Cassie."

I smiled at her, the weigh on my chest lessened by her genuine laughter. “I’m taking a page from ‘The Book of Rachel,’” I said. 

“Books are your and Marco’s deal,” she said. “I’m just the pretty murderer.” The dark look was back in her eyes and I couldn’t bear it, so I pulled her close to me again, clinging to her with quiet desperation. 

“You’re more than that,” I said, my mouth brushing against her jaw, whispering the words into her skin like maybe I could infuse them into her. I needed to her to know what I saw I looked at her – not a killer, but a survivor. Sometimes I felt like I could see right down into Rachel’s soul and I knew she was a good person who just needed time. And, we had time now, we had all the time we didn’t think we’d ever have in the darkest parts of the war when just scrounging up food was difficult.  

Rachel sighed and shoved me away. 

“Just – just don’t, Cassie.”

I knew Rachel wouldn’t suffer my soft words for long, but I didn’t want to let it go. 

“Don’t what? Let you know I care about you? Hold you when you are feeling bad?” I demanded, grabbing Rachel’s hand. 

She was caught between telling me she wanted none of my sympathy, a very Rachel reaction, and something else I wasn’t quite sure of. I could see the conflict playing out on her face, in the tightness of her jaw and in the way she bit her lip.  

“Rachel?” I took her other hand and hoped she wouldn’t push me away again. 

She surged forward instead, her lips finding mine in something that was chaste but full of meaning. I was too surprised to react, and she pulled back quickly, a frown pulling her mouth down. 

“Don’t ask,” she said, echoing what she’d said earlier. “Please.”

She tried to turn away from me, but I placed my hand gently on the side of her face and wouldn’t allow her to hide. I could feel her blushing under my palm and my heart clenched up.

I didn’t ask. I leaned in and returned the kiss, titling her chin up toward me until our lips met.

It was sweeter, softer than the first, and her body, stiff with tension, began to slowly relax. I kissed her lips, the tip of her nose, her forehead, tried again to press into her skin, her soul, my feelings for her, with my love for her, all of her.

Rachel gently curled her hand around the back of my neck, her fingers stroking my skin, and I didn’t have to ask because I knew.


End file.
